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Shadows kissed Regulus’ pale face as he stepped out the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He had needed no excuse, no carefully-crafted lie for his outing – his parents were out, holidaying in Russia, and it had been years since Sirius had deigned come near the house. There was a taste of Spring in the fresh March air, and a spring in Regulus’ step; he practically leapt into the air as he Disapparated, so eager to pop once more into existence on the bank of a river which had become more his home than the house he left behind.

This riverbank was really nothing out of the ordinary. Snow still frosted its edges, if snow it could be called, resembling as it did sullen Butterbeer froth which refused to acknowledge that winter was over. Ducks set up a racket in resentment of the sharp sound which Apparated into the stillness with Regulus; he laughed, not caring that they may attract attention, for the trees which fringed the river blocked him from the sight of the nearby town.

He Conjured a blanket to protect his robes from the muddy ground, sat on it, and waited.

The time dragged by. The river’s chuckle became less carefree as the shadows thickened, and yet no footsteps broke the natural quiet. Regulus became uneasy; his foot tapped a dint into the soft earth, and he picked at a fray in his robes. She said she’d be here. She was never late.

Julia had always been the type of witch to hand in homework essays a day early; she’d be the first to class, and the first to the Quidditch pitch – punctual to the minute. Under her captaincy, the Ravenclaw team had ceased to suffer the affliction of lateness due to a teamful of dreamers. It was unfathomable to Regulus that she should now be late.

At last, he could bear it no longer. Springing from his seat and Vanishing the blanket, he – with a growl hidden beneath his breath – set off through the trees and into the town. So long as nobody saw him.

His parents didn’t know about Julia… after all, her grandmother had been… well, her grandmother was hardly important. Julia was a witch through and through, and the best Regulus knew. Her grandmother was nothing. And yet... Regulus drew his robes closer to him, and kept his face down. If he were to be seen here…

His eyes were still on the ground when Regulus arrived before the house he sought. And so it was that when he lifted them, the sight with which they were met brought him to his knees and wrenched a sob from his lips –

The Dark Mark hovered above Julia’s house.

Fierce tears burned his eyes, and Regulus felt the bile rise in his mouth. He shuddered, and the movement shook seven words from his lips.

Name: melody93House: Slytherin!Title: Forget Me NotWord Count: 499Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd years/NoneChosen Character: Hermione GrangerA/N: I really hope it’s okay for another character to find it – all we had to depict was the search, anyway.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d been so careful, so meticulous to make sure she didn’t leave anything behind. Frowning, she rummaged through her beaded bag, frantically searching for even a glimmer-

“Hermione?”

“Oh, Ron,” she breathed, abruptly ending her search and turning around to face him. “What is it?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, raising a curious eyebrow at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m searching for something,” she replied. “What are you doing here?”

What a stupid question. She was in his bedroom, after all, and it was nearly time for them to all be asleep.

“I sleep here,” he reminded her, giving her an odd look. He went over to her and sat on his bed, looking over at her and at her beaded bag. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed, getting up from her spot on the floor and clutching her bag tightly.

“No, really – I can help,” he offered, looking up at her.

Sighing, she shook her head and looked at the bag sadly. “It’s nothing, I … it’s nothing.”

Turning, she left his bedroom and headed to Ginny’s room. There, she resumed her frantic search, even resorting to a desperate Accio directed at the contents of the bag, which turned out to be a fruitless attempt.

Unwanted tears started to prick the corners of her eyes, and she gave up on her search. It was really lost.

Growing up, Hermione had always considered books and letters from her few friends to be her most prized possessions. However, since the fateful day she’d had to erase her parents’ memories concerning her, her most prized possession had become something else.

When you Obliviate someone and leave them living in the same place, even if they are planning on moving, there are things that need to be altered – like photographs. Every single photograph in the Granger household that had Hermione in it had been altered, in order to make it look as if she didn’t exist – every photo but one.

She’d taken that unaltered photo with her to the Burrow, and had kept it inside her bag, except at night, when she took it out before falling asleep. It helped her feel closer to her parents, even if they didn’t know they had a daughter. And now, it was missing.

She didn’t realize she was crying until Ron barged into the room and asked her what was really wrong.

“It was under my bed,” he explained. “That’s why I came back here, because I found it.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. Looking up at him through tear-filled eyes, she managed a simply ‘thank you!’ before throwing herself at him and hugging him fiercely. There were simply no words.

Ron glanced at her as he pulled on his shoes. “I won’t be long. I just have to check.”

“If that’s where you lost it, it will still be there in the morning.”

He pocketed his wand. “I know, but I just,” he faltered, not knowing how to explain. “I just need to check.”

Hermione sighed. “I know you do. Go then, but take Harry with you, at least.”

“You wound me,” he said, feigning insult. “I don’t need help to shine a light around a dark room.” He bent to kiss her. “It’s a crime scene, Hermione. It’s been magically secured.”

“Just be careful, and please don’t Apparate.” She leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes, finally giving in to the fatigue of the day. “It always wakes Rosie.”

___________

“Lumos.” Ron swung his wand in a slow arc around the room. He knew better than to try summoning it: the Auror in charge of the case would have magically sealed the area to preserve the evidence. Those types of charms would no longer work in here. The sound of broken glass crunched under his feet as he walked toward the hallway off the main room.

He’d been standing right here waiting for Harry’s signal when everything had exploded. Their suspect had muttered, "Confrigo," a split second before being disarmed by another Auror, but the spell had caused plenty of damage just the same. The wall had been blown apart and Ron sent flying back, deeper into the hall.

Finding the place where he’d landed, Ron lowered himself to the ground and began to search. The floor was covered with chucks of plaster, but it was only a minute before he spotted a gleam of silver peeking out from the dust. Ron closed his hand around cold metal, relief spreading its arms wide inside his chest.

_______

He found Hermione where he had left her, now sound asleep. He checked on Rosie, locked the doors, and changed into his bedclothes. He tried not to wake her as he crawled into bed and claimed his share of the covers, but she stirred anyway.

“Did you find it?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

“Yeah.” He opened his arm and she moved into him, pressing herself into her usual spot. “I think it fell out of my pocket when I hit the ground.”

“Feel better now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then. I think the least you could do is turn out the lights.”

He chuckled, grabbing the Deluminator from the bedside table. He held it up and clicked it, watching as the room fell into a comforting darkness.

“You’re never going to need it that way again, you know.”

Ron knew she wasn’t talking about the lights.

He hoped and believed that she was right, but even so, it wasn’t a chance he could afford to take.

He couldn’t think straight. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He just wanted to crawl into a ball and start crying. But that wouldn’t get him anywhere. So instead of falling into a further state of panic, he decided to check the last place he saw them: the Quidditch Pitch.

He wanted to slap himself for being so stupid once he made it outside. The autumn air was crisp--too crisp to be just wearing a cloak. His cheeks were already pink and his nose began to freeze. I guess that’s the price you pay for being a moron, he thought.

How could he have lost them?

Albus passed a group of Slytherins leaving the pitch, their hair windswept with brooms over their shoulders. Not one of them paid him any attention. Thankfully.

He let out a sigh of relief upon entering the Gryffindor locker room; it was his safety from the harsh breeze. But the relief was short lived – he didn’t see his gloves. He knew they wouldn’t be in plain sight, but he couldn’t help but hold on to the slim possibility that they’d be right there, right next to the boot-shaped stain on the bench where he’d last set them.

Because they weren’t just any Keeper’s gloves – they were Anthony Mudbank’s old gloves. Anthony Mudbank, the greatest Keeper in the world; Britain’s star player; Albus’s hero. He gave the gloves to Al personally, after a particularly spectacular match against the Harpies. He said that he needed a new pair anyways, and instead of throwing them out, why not give them to a young, promising Keeper?

Al searched the locker room top to bottom. They were his lucky gloves. In his previous two (and only) matches as a Gryffindor Keeper, he let only six Quaffles through. That’s a school record, and he's just a Second Year.

As he finished checking the bathrooms (because you can never know) his hands began to shake again. They weren’t in the locker room. Don’t panic, he told himself. They’re probably in your room.

They had to be. They’re his lucky gloves.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without them.

Last edited by ron lover; 08-29-2011 at 01:48 AM.
Reason: Forgot a title!